Inspiration
by PaintedSpirit
Summary: No one really knows that Draco Malfoy is an amazing pianist. Unfortunately, he lost his precious inspiration.


**Hello :). I have much inspiration lately, so I'm writing like crazy. The ideas for new stories are stuck in my head, and I want to write them all ;). I leave you with Draco now, and I hope you won't get bored while reading this story about him.**

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**Inspiration**

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Draco Malfoy in his 19 years of existence really desired only three things in the life. First of them was a peace of mind. He hated people, who were constantly approaching him, and asking him to do something for them. Being an only lord of the Malfoy Manor was obliging. Second of them was not having a proper job, in which people would appreciate him and his family's high status. After all, the Malfoys have been developing their reputation for many years, and it would be a disgrace, if someone just ruined it. But it was happening since he started working in the Ministry of Magic after ending education at Hogwarts. Instead of taking a place after his father, Draco was given a job in the Information Office where he was made an office-boy. Third of them was not having a proper girlfriend, who would become his wife in the future, and would proudly represent the name Malfoy. All the girls he knew were stupid, or ugly, or were already in a happy relationship, so they wouldn't even take a look at him. Well, at least Pansy Parkinson was still waiting for him to accept her blind love, but Draco definitely wasn't interested. Life was a bullshit.

The war ended two years ago. Draco was the only resident of the Malfoy Manor. His father, Lucius Malfoy, was thrown into Azkaban. He was accused of being a Death Eater for many years, and for helping Voldemort in taking regime over the wizarding world. Lucius' indisposition automatically made Draco an inheritor, and official householder. Draco's mother, Narcissa, broke down mentally few months ago, and she was put into St. Mungo's. No one really knew what was the reason of her sudden breakdown. Draco suspected that she just had a feeling of guilt mixed with her love for husband, and son. The only son, who could have become one of the Death Eaters, if the war hadn't end.

Draco was lying on the soft leather sofa in the salon, with headphones in his ears. Listening to Sex Pistols was one of his favorite ways of relaxing. He didn't care that Sex Pistols was a muggle band since he adored their music. On the small table next to him was lying a pile of newspapers, and single clippings of articles. His job required from him, first of all, writing about important events, goings-on, and report about them to his boss. Secondly, he was expected to bring messages to his boss from other bosses in the Ministry, and vice versa. Well, after all, that was what an office-boy usually does. And now, Draco had some work to do. His boss wanted him to write a very extensive report about latest news. He gave Draco one week to collect all the needed articles, and write about them, but Draco didn't care in this very moment. He still had three more days, why should he hurry up therefore?

He didn't hear through the Sex Pistols' rock rhytms the melodious sound of the door bell. He still was lying on the sofa with closed eyes and pretending that he plays on the invisible drums. To be honest, no one really knew that Draco was an amazing musician. His music 'career' started when he was six, and this time his mother taught him to play piano. Narcissa was a naturally talented pianist, thanks to her hidden emotional sensitivity. Draco was ambitious enough to learn how to play some of her favorite pieces of music, just to make her proud, so he had been practicing for many hours. He loved his mother unconditionally, and he would do anything for her. Draco played also the organ, and some violin, but he definitely preferred the piano. His thoughts about music were disrupted by someone's shouting.

"DRACO MALFOY, I GIVE YOU ONE MINUTE TO COLLECT YOURSELF AND STOP HANGING AROUND!"

Draco immediately jumped when he heard the yelling, and pulled the headphones from the ears. With heart pounding wildly, and eyes wide opened, he looked at the source of the noise. At the doorstep was standing Hermione Granger, all soaked from the rain pouring outside.

"Oh my God, Granger, you could at least knock to the door," Draco said ironically.

After the war ended, Draco's relations with Harry, and Hermione became better. They were neither friends, nor enemies, but they accepted each other, and they have stepped on the neutral area, which was a good sign. Their relations were good enough to even make friends in the future, but not now. Not yet. Ron wasn't that keen on trying to make better relationship with Draco, so he stayed behind, still distrusting. Harry, and Hermione, on the other hand, knew that Draco had been given an important lesson after the war, which changed him. They also believed that he deserves to be given a chance. Malfoy, despite the fact that he had been raised in the almost aristocratic pure blood family, never underestimated and humiliated muggle borns anymore. If he had, he wouldn't make any friends in this new world.

To be honest, Draco never had many _real_ friends. Crabbe, and Goyle hadn't been counted, because he treated them as if they were his bodyguards rather than friends. Of course, Crabbe also couldn't have been counted since he was dead. Pansy Parkinson was his lovesick fangirl more than a friend. She was more interested in trying to get into his pants rather than listening to what he wanted to say. Only Blaise Zabini could have been called his friend. He never talked too much, he was more of a listener. He never cared about Draco's wealth, or reputation, in opposite to other Slytherins. He just... _was_. Always there when needed, without asking unnecessary questions. Blaise somehow understood Draco. It was a strange friendship, based on arrogance, irony, teasing, jealousy, but it existed. And now Draco couldn't see Blaise as often as he would like to, because Zabini also was working. In the Ministry, of course, but in the very different department. The only person, who Draco was seeing regularly, was Hermione. She was working with him in the same office in the Ministry, but... Well, her position was higher than his. He still couldn't understand this, but it looked like he hasn't fully get used to the new order in the wizarding world.

Hermione dried her clothes with wand, and came closer to the table, which was occupied by newspapers. She took a couple of them and lifted. Between newspapers there were few cards of sheet music, which Draco tried to play this morning on the piano. Hermione's sharp eye quickly noticed them. Her lips curved into strange smile. "I see you wasn't hanging around that much."

Draco sat on the sofa more relaxed than minutes before. It looked like Hermione was interested in his little masterpiece that he actually composed all by himself, but he never finished it. He ran out of the inspiration to compose it to the end, and he couldn't find any of it from this time.

"Many low tones, combined with few high tones makes it rather sad, doesn't it?" she asked.

"I've never thought of it as sad," Draco replied.

"Oh, I see. Is it romantic then?" Hermione was still smiling. Her little discover about Draco being a musician was something completely strange, yet amusing to her.

Malfoy couldn't help, but he took it as an insult. She was making fun of him! He felt that his cheeks were burning, and his breath became faster. Draco pointed cards with music, which Hermione was holding. "I can show you, if you want."

She had a surprised look on her face. Hermione knew that she had violated his pride, and now she has to pay for it. The price was listening to him playing the piano. Draco suddenly rose from his seat. "Come on," he said, and led her to the large black instrument, which was standing in the corner of the room. He sat on the little bench, and lifted the lid. Hermione awkwardly stood behind him. "Sit down," Draco instructed her. She obediently sat down next to him. Draco took the cards from her, and placed them in front of him. He looked very focused when he started playing.

The music was amazingly beautiful. It definitely wasn't sad, but it wasn't happy either. Hermione felt like the music was trying to tell her a story about emotions, which were hidden for a long time, and now finally decided to show up. It was a calm, soft melody, almost like a lullaby, but much more meaningful. She was observing Draco's pale, long fingers, which were dancing gracefully on the keys. His almost white hair covered the pale face. He was so lost in his music... Only couple of minutes had passed, but Hermione felt like she was sitting there for ages. She wouldn't mind, if she was... She could listen to this melody forever. She felt shivers all over her body. The music penetrated her body, mind, and heart. And then he suddenly stopped. It looked like he had stopped playing, because the piece hadn't been finished. Draco lowered his head, never looking into Hermione's eyes.

"Why did you stop?" she asked him curiously. He could hear disappointment in her voice.

"I've never finished it," he answered honestly.

"Why?" Hermione's voice was quiet, and surprisingly soft.

"Because I've lost inspiration, and I just _couldn't_ finish it improperly. Music needs respect, and what kind of respect it would received, if I wrote just _anything_?" Draco looked really miserable. He was contemplating about this piece for a long time, and still couldn't finish it properly. Hermione would never thought of Draco as a perfectionist, but it seemed that he respected music very much.

"Maybe you should stop thinking about it so often? Sometimes inspiration comes to us unexpectedly, and usually this time is the best to create something really good." Hermione felt sorry for Draco, and she tried to comfort him somehow.

He didn't say anything. He just looked at her, with pain in his eyes. Lacking of inspiration _was_ painful for an artist.

"Do you play piano?" he suddenly asked. Hermione nodded.

"Play something for me," Draco said. It was more of an ask than the order, but it still wasn't very clear. Maybe after all he was on a good way to learn some politeness.

Hermione tried to remind some of the pieces she played at home for her parents. Then she started playing her favorite one. Tchaikovsky's piece. Draco was listening to the music with closed eyes, like if he was trying to detach himself from the world. In his mind was only he, and the music... When Hermione stopped playing, he was still sitting like this for a while. And then he finally opened the grey eyes.

"I think I have to go now..." said Hermione while getting up from her seat. Draco was in a strange state. She'd rather left him alone, and let him collect his thoughts. "I'll see you tomorrow." She left the manor quickly.

Draco was sitting still for a while. And then he suddenly picked up the pencil, which was lying on the small shelf next to him. He started writing new music. He could hear it in his head, and his heart. The end of his masterpiece.

He finally received an inspiration.


End file.
